Page 126 of Corrupted Heart

My pulse roars in my ears, and I keep my arms up in front of my face, flinching as they block the scrape and claw of branches that are trying to rip my face and snag my hair.

“Where are you, little girl…”

I choke back a scream when I hear him crashing through the brush behind me. I veer sharply to the right, pelting into the dark forest. I gasp, ducking at the very last minute to avoid running face-first into a low branch. It skins my elbow, though, and I cry out in pain.

“I can smell your fucking fear, little one.”

I swallow another scream, zigging left to crash through the trees. Maybe there’s something nearby. A rest stop, or a gas station. Even the road we took to get here. I mean, we’re only an hour at most outside New York. It’s not like we’re in the middle of nowhere.

Hope catches fire inside me as I whirl to the left and push and claw my way through the trees and snarled branches.

“Shall I tell you what happens when I catch you?”

I almost scream. Fuck me, he’s so close. Way closer than I thought he was, somewhere just to my right. I zig left, pushing myself, trying not to care about the underbrush slicing and ripping at my bare legs and the heavier branches arching to bash in my face.

“I’m going to fuck you till you bleed. I’m gonna hurt you, slut. I’m going to watch the light go out in your eyes as you choke on my fucking cock.”

There are games, and there are nightmares. And I’ve tripped over my own impulsiveness right into the latter.

I shouldn’t have run from the brownstone earlier. Shouldn’t have gone out. Shouldn’t have gone on the Venom site, and I definitely shouldn’t have engaged with that demented stranger.

Because there’s no question that’s who’s brought me here. Who’s chasing me.

Who wants to hurt me, for real.

Panic surges through me as I crash down a small embankment and hide behind an uprooted tree. I pull out my phone, hoping against hope…

Oh my God.

I have one bar of service.

I can hear metallic snarling and the sound of crunching leaves and snapping twigs, like my attacker is getting closer.

I don’t have much time. Or more than a prayer of a chance. But it’s something. In the one millisecond I have, I text Kratos a map pin of my location. I wait, watching the send bar load tortuously slowly because of the almost no service.

But it goes through.

I jam my phone into my bag and force myself to get up. With a choked cry, I fling myself through the trees, running as fast as I can and trying to ignore the pain in my bare feet.

Praying that the break in the trees I think I can see ahead will open up to a road, or a house, or anything.

With a last gasp, I crash out of the woods and into a dark clearing.

Instantly, I go still and my heart drops.

I’m right back where I started.

“Too bad.”

I scream as I whirl. The energy is draining from my aching muscles as I back away. Slowly, the branches move. A dark shadow emerges, stalking toward me.

The clouds begin to part, and a faint glow from the moon begins to bleed across the clearing. The man moves toward me, brimming with darkness and pure malice. He steps into the hazy, pseudo-light, and my throat seizes up as pure, stabbing fear cuts into me.

Jeans. Black boots. A black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up, and a mask. Not the one Kratos wears that I know and am addicted to. No, this one is almost pure black, with just two pale, grayish-white circles, one larger than the other, where the eyes should be.

The moonlight washes over his mask, and I choke on my fear.

Not circles. Buttons. The psycho has two mismatched buttons haphazardly sewn onto the all-black mask, leering at me as he stalks toward me.

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